


All Our Days Have Gone Away

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alzheimer's Disease, Angst, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Season/Series 05, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: John visits Harold in an assisted living facility.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [potc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potc/gifts).



> Refers to the time during S5 when some of us feared Harold might develop memory problems like his father.
> 
> Prompt: The way you said "I love you" - As a goodbye
> 
> [Translation into Chinese by Diamonddy](http://450330487.lofter.com/post/1d53de66_f140f93)

The passing nurses offer him polite smiles as he walks down the corridor towards Harold's room. He ought to be painfully reminded of Jessica, but that scar is nothing more than a dull ache these days, which is a sadness all its own.

 

Harold's room has large pictures of birds on the walls. John came and put them up for him, several months ago.

 

Harold is in his wheelchair with his back to the door, sitting near the open window. He gazes at the outdoors with curious eyes. He hasn't been out in three days.

 

John knocks on the door. "Hey, Harold." Harold doesn't turn, doesn't react at all. Same as usual, then. John steps into the room, walks towards him, and crouches down next to Harold's chair. Very gently, he takes Harold's hand.

 

Harold finally looks away from the window, blinking down at John, surprised and mildly interested in his presence. Not even a flicker of recognition.

 

They both knew this day would come.

 

"Harold," John says, swallowing back his tears. "My name's John."

 

"Nice to meet you," Harold says, formally, weakly squeezing John's hand in his.

 

It's no use trying to explain the extent of their history. They've been down that road before.

 

"Could you do something for me?" John asks. "Could you try and eat your meals? They said you're being stubborn, but I promise, no-one is trying to poison you."

 

Harold's eyebrows signal disapproval. "Of course they are. It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you." He adds, in something like his old voice, the voice John fell in love with.

 

John laughs, hollow. Furiously wipes away an escaping tear. "They're not."

 

The laugh has seemed to jolt Harold into greater awareness. "Do you know me?"

 

John holds his breath. "Yes."

 

Harold sniffs and returns his attention to the window. "Could you ask my good friend Nathan to visit? He's terribly busy, but I do miss him."

 

John properly sobs then. Harold doesn't even look at him. "I'll ask him," John says, a promise impossible to fulfil.

 

John lets go of Harold's hand, to press down on his closed eyelids, willing the tears to stop. He has to do this. He has to say the horrible thing he came here to say. He lifts his head. "I have to stop coming to see you."

 

Harold shrugs and shakes his head, as though he doesn't understand why that should be a problem. "As you wish."

 

"I'm moving to Australia with Iris." John has never brought her to the nursing home.

 

"Congratulations." Harold sounds like he couldn't care less.

 

John straightens, folds his arms across his chest, stares guiltily at the carpet. "Root and Shaw will continue to visit once a fortnight."

 

"Who?"

 

John screws up his mouth but there's no stopping the tears. "They're good friends."

 

"I'm sure they are. Goodbye, Ron." Harold adds, dismissively, picking up a book. He can't really read anymore, can't get from the start of one page to the next, but they had a full-on riot on their hands the last time they tried to take his books from him. John only wishes Harold would fight to keep _him_ the same way.

 

John shakes his head, forces his fists to unclench. "It's John," he corrects, pointlessly. Then he darts forward, quick as lightning, and presses a kiss in Harold's receding hair. "I love you." He whispers, then forces himself to walk away for the last time.

 

 


End file.
